When I sat down to write my last blog, I immediately wanted to avoid writing it. When I
mentioned this to a colleague, a suggestion was made to write about avoidance in my next blog.
That got me thinking about what’s really going on when I resist writing something others might
see? Am I insecure about my abilities? Worried about judgment? If people don’t like it, does that
mean something about me?

As a therapist, I often help people explore avoidance but turning that lens on myself is harder.
Avoidance usually protects us from pain, discomfort, or fear of failure. For me, writing feels tied
to self-worth. If I write a blog that I perceive as good, I feel good about myself. If it turns out
poorly, I feel like I’m not enough. That’s a familiar script for me. Others may avoid through
procrastination. Procrastination looks like over preparing or telling yourself that you have other,
more important things to do. Perfectionism may show up in a way that creates endless editing
and something never being good enough to the point it never gets finished. Sometimes, younger
protective parts come online when we need to do something hard or potentially painful. For
example, my younger self who learned mistakes weren’t safe, now shows up as a part that
sometimes prevents me from starting on something because it is worried about a negative
outcome. Even success can feel risky, because doing something well might invite more work.

Our brains also play a role. Thanks to negativity bias, we’re wired to focus on possible threats,
even when none exist. Writing a blog isn’t dangerous, but my brain acts like it is. Fear and
avoidance can feel protective, even when they hold us back.

What can you do to help yourself?

• Notice your self-talk. Ask: is it really true? Will everyone judge me? Probably not. Even if some do, that doesn’t mean something is wrong with me.
• Change the narrative. Instead of “I can’t do hard things,” remind yourself, “I am someone who can do hard things.”
• Think of your future self. Avoidance doesn’t make things easier. Starting now is a gift to yourself later. Slowing down can help here to get a sense of what’s going on internally.
• Talk to the part that avoids. Often, it’s a younger part trying to protect you. As an adult, you have the skills to handle discomfort. Can that younger part step aside so your adult self can step up and do the work?
• Accept that risk is unavoidable. There is risk in everything, but risk is necessary for us to learn and grow. There is no growth in staying comfortable.
• Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good. If perfectionism is slowing you down, remember that leaning into making mistakes is an opportunity for growth.
• Seek support if needed. If avoidance pervasive, it might be linked to unresolved trauma, and therapy can help.

Avoidance is human but it doesn’t have to run the show. Naming it, challenging it, and being compassionate with ourselves can make space for growth and freedom.

There’s a moment many of us have experienced: you lie down at night and only then realize you’ve had a headache all day, or that there’s been a knot in your stomach or a tightness in your chest. Sometimes, we push through exhaustion without even noticing we’re tired — just go-go-go all day.

These moments are quiet reminders of something we often forget: we’re living in a body. And that body is speaking all the time — the problem is, we’re often not listening.

What is Body Awareness?

Body awareness, or somatic consciousness, is the ability to notice what’s happening in your body in real time. It’s recognizing how you’re breathing, where you’re holding tension, whether you’re hungry or full, hot or cold, restless or fatigued.

It sounds simple, but in today’s world — where most of us live in our heads — it’s actually something we need to relearn.

From an early age, we naturally begin to develop this awareness through movement and exploration. But as we grow older, the emphasis shifts from embodied experience to cognitive performance. We prioritize thoughts over sensations, achievement over presence, and somewhere along the way, we begin to disconnect from our bodies. The result? We stop feeling — until the body demands our attention through symptoms, anxiety, chronic tension, or burnout.

In my own therapeutic work, both in person and online, body awareness has become a cornerstone — whether I’m working with someone through IFS parts work, guiding an EMDR reprocessing session, or simply helping a client ground during a difficult moment.

Why Is Somatic Awareness So Helpful in Therapy?

The body often knows before the mind does.

Your body might begin showing signs of sadness, anger, or anxiety — a clenched jaw, a racing heart, a pit in your stomach — long before your mind can name what’s going on. That’s because emotions don’t start in the head. They live in the body.

When we develop somatic awareness, we start to recognize these subtle (and not-so-subtle) signals. And this gives us options. It allows us to respond instead of react.

For example:

• You might notice your shoulders creeping up as a signal that a part of you is feeling overwhelmed or protective.
• You might become aware of a sudden heaviness in your chest while remembering or re-living a difficult memory; something your body is helping you feel even if your words haven’t caught up yet. For this, I recommend seeking EMDR therapy.
• Or you may learn to distinguish between physical tiredness and emotional exhaustion — and give yourself what you actually need.

Somatic awareness is what helps us notice when our inner system is out of balance — when a part of us is triggered or when our nervous system needs regulation. That’s why it’s such a powerful complement to therapeutic approaches like IFS and EMDR, which both rely on the ability to track sensations, images, and shifts in the internal world.

The Mind–Body Disconnect

Stress and anxiety thrive in the past and the future. The body, on the other hand, exists only in the now. That’s why bringing attention to the body — even for a few minutes — can be such an effective way to calm the nervous system and interrupt runaway thoughts.

The challenge is that when we’re overwhelmed or stuck in a trauma response, body awareness tends to shut down. It’s actually very common for clients to feel disconnected from their bodies after difficult experiences. This isn’t a flaw — it’s a protective mechanism. In IFS terms, these are often exiled parts or protective parts doing their job. But over time, staying disconnected only keeps the cycle going.

When we reintroduce safe, non-judgmental body awareness — gently, and with support — it opens a doorway back to self-connection.

How to Begin Developing Body Awareness

Here’s the good news: somatic awareness is not a talent — it’s a skill. And like any skill, it can be developed and deepened with practice.

Some helpful ways to begin:

• Check in with your breath: Without changing it, just notice. Where does it feel open? Where does it feel stuck?
• Scan for tension: Gently explore your jaw, shoulders, hands, belly. Are you holding anything you didn’t realize?
• Track your sensations during emotional moments: When you feel something strongly, ask yourself: Where do I feel this in my body? What part of me might be holding this?
• Ground in movement: Yoga, Pilates, dance, or somatic-based techniques like guided meditations or body scans can help reconnect the body and mind in a mindful, integrated way.
• Use body cues as information: Feeling tension rise? That might be a part of you needing a pause. Use it as a signal, not a failure.

From a neurological standpoint, body awareness activates new pathways in the brain. In fact, moving with awareness can stimulate neuroplasticity — helping you shift old emotional patterns and create new, more regulated responses to life’s challenges.

Body Awareness in Action: Benefits You Can Feel

When you start to tune in to your body regularly, you may notice:

• A greater ability to self-regulate when stress hits
• Improved posture and reduced tension or chronic pain
• Fewer anxiety flare-ups, or catching them sooner
• Stronger boundaries — recognizing your limits before burnout
• Clearer, more authentic communication
• A felt sense of calm that doesn’t require overthinking or numbing
• Increased connection with yourself — and with others

Final Thoughts

I often say to my clients: “Your body isn’t the problem — it’s the messenger.”

If you receive a letter that brings you discomfort, it would not be right to lash out or get angry with the person delivering the mail. The same goes for your body.

The journey of learning to listen can feel unfamiliar, especially if you’ve spent years disconnecting in order to cope. But each moment of presence is a quiet act of healing — a way of saying to your nervous system, “I’m here. I’m listening. You’re safe.”

And sometimes, that’s the most therapeutic thing we can do.

Okay, I know I am going to sound old and cranky here, but I can’t help but notice how loud most restaurants are these days. I love going out to eat with friends and family. I love trying new foods and breaking bread with those I love. I love slowing down over a meal and having a chance to visit for an extended time with people as a break from our busy lives. Eating out has gotten more expensive, but I still like the idea of trying new places and as much as I like cooking, it’s nice to have the option of focusing on the food and the togetherness more than the preparation and clean up.

However, in the past year at least, I have been having a harder and harder time coming up with ideas for places I can go with others and actually be able to HEAR them while we are together. If I am out with a small group, I generally resign myself to knowing that I will really only be able to exchange words with those immediately next to me. Sometimes, the experience leaves me feeling like I miss those I saw but couldn’t talk with even more than if I hadn’t seen them at all.

I looked up some articles online and saw that restauranteurs want a certain level of excitement and ambience in their spaces so that it feels like their establishment is a fun place to gather. I can appreciate that, and I love the cozy feel of background music and warm chatter. But the music has gotten louder and there is less emphasis on sound dampening in dining rooms, in favor of enhancing the party vibe. Could it be that this is part of the societal shift to create places for hip social media posts with vibrant selfies and exotic food photos, and a movement away from deeper connection with those around us?
I don’t think there is a restaurant conspiracy afoot, but I do think we need to be mindful of the way our recent culture has encouraged us to be together without really BEING together. There are times for loud parties and times for quieter gatherings, and I would love to still be able to have these quieter gatherings in public dining spaces. Humans are social animals and connection nourishes and heals us. The ability to co-regulate with each other over relaxed meals and calm exchanges is scientifically proven to be good for our bodies. So let’s be sure to be intentional about making time for these opportunities and find, ask for, or even create spaces to make this happen. Thanks for considering this and allowing me space for my middle-aged rant!

When I was on my mindful walk last week in the 102° weather, I became acutely aware of how sad I will be to stop going on these walks. Summers in Arizona are tough. The intense heat drains the energy out of many of life’s usual rhythms—even something as simple and cherished as going for a walk. I noticed myself grieving something I’ve come to deeply love: my mindful walks.

These walks aren’t about getting steps in or checking something off a to-do list. Once a week, I walk the same route with no music, no podcast, no dog, no AirPods—just me. It’s a 30-minute journey that becomes a moving journal entry, a quiet conversation with myself. Instead of moving through my neighborhood on autopilot, I slow down. I notice the small things: the soft pink of a new flower, the subtle shift in the shape of the clouds, the buzz of restaurant patios filled with laughter and clinking glasses. But the awareness doesn’t stop at what’s outside. It turns inward. Without distractions, I become aware of what’s moving through me—anxiety, gratitude, grief, fatigue. I meet those parts of myself gently, without needing to fix or rush past them.

Here’s the thing that struck me on that hot day: This presence is always available to me. That perspective shift is at the heart of mindfulness. As Jon Kabat-Zinn describes, mindfulness is “paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally.” Mindfulness helps lower anxiety, improves focus, supports emotional regulation, and can even reduce symptoms of depression. It’s not a quick fix, but rather a practice that gently strengthens our ability to return to ourselves. That means I don’t need a perfect setting—or ideal weather—to be present. I just need to notice. Yes, it’s natural to feel resistance or even grief when something meaningful changes. I still feel a longing for the simple joy of those walks.

But now I ask myself: Can I notice the heat with the same curiosity I offer a blooming flower? Can I tune in to what this season—literal and emotional—is inviting me to pay attention to? Even indoors, I can find moments to return to the present. The sound of water as I wash dishes, the warmth of a coffee mug in my hands, the pit in my stomach before seeing a long-lost friend, the steady rhythm of my breath. Mindfulness doesn’t erase discomfort. It invites us to sit with it. To breathe with it. To listen to what it’s trying to tell us. Even if I can’t walk outside this summer, I can walk inward. I can return to the present moment, wherever I am.

This morning, as I drove to work, I found myself deeply moved by an audiobook recommended by a friend: “The Amen Effect” by Sharon Brous. In the opening chapters, she reflects on her grandmother’s powerful rule about the importance of showing up—not just during moments of joy, but also in times of sorrow. Her words resonated with me, reminding me of a lesson I learned from my mom.
I vividly recall the weeks leading up to my wedding when my mom reached out to friends who had expressed their regrets about attending, citing the challenges of traveling from Boston to Arizona during a busy work season. She was direct and clear about her feelings: “If you would show up for my funeral, then you should show up for my celebration; don’t just show up when I’m dead.” Her words must have resonated, as her friends quickly changed their RSVPs and booked their flights.

Listening to Sharon recount her own experience, I felt a wave of emotion, I makeup at least in part because my mom is no longer alive. She passed away only five years after my wedding, far too early, and her funeral was one of the largest gatherings I have ever attended. On that day, there was no doubt that people showed up—including those wedding guests I mentioned.

In my work as a therapist, the concept of showing up—especially during challenging times of grief, sadness, and hurt—is fundamental to fostering empathy. I often share a metaphor with those I work with: when your partner, friend, or family member is in pain, imagine they are adrift in a sinking boat in the middle of the ocean. While you may have done the hard work to make it to dry land, or maybe you’ve been there all along, it can feel like you’re standing on the shore, looking out at them and saying, “Come on! It’s so much better over here! Join me! I’m even happy to help you do the hard work of getting ashore. What I can’t do, however, is get into that boat with you—especially if I was the one who put you there in the first place. Why? Well, your hurt, your pain, your discomfort, is just too much for me to handle.” While undoubtedly challenging, it is important to understand that ultimately, what we need as human beings in times of hardship, as much as in times of happiness, is someone to show up, and not by fixing the problem or making it go away. Showing up means swimming out to that boat and being willing to stay there for as long as it takes for our loved ones to be ready to come out themselves. It’s about laughing, crying, and screaming together, ensuring they don’t have to shoulder their burdens alone.

As I sat in my car this morning, tears streaming down my face, I was tempted to turn off the audiobook—a literal attempt to turn down the volume of my own grief. But as I reached for the pause button, I considered the importance of not just showing up for others, but also for myself. Slowly, I lowered my hand and made my choice. Instead of abandoning myself in that moment of sadness, I chose to consider my need for someone to show up and decided to come alongside of myself.

I have typically not embraced the New Year as a significant transition point. I enjoy the year in review summaries to reminisce on the prior year events but not found the motivation or purpose in setting goals for the year. Goal setting has always been an ongoing process for me, an ongoing evolution of direction. While friends who create vision boards or thoughtfully create goals for the year have always been impressive to me, it has never inspired me to do so, it just never fit.

While this past year has not generated the motivation to set goals for 2025, it did gain my attention. There have been significant losses, medical issues, and no small amount of anxiety producing situations. As a result, 2024 is one I am looking forward to putting behind me. Yet, here I sit into the first few weeks of January feeling some of the same feelings of last year – overwhelm and discouragement. Perhaps my dismissal of punctuating the New Year is not serving me well, or this is a reminder the idea of simply leaving the past behind is not reasonable.

Although I would dearly love to leave the year behind and move into a glorious new year, the one we call 2025, the first two weeks are not promising indicators. I decided to try something different this year, the art of reflection. For some of you who already practice this skill, congratulations. Reflecting on my losses, I realize I have made new friends and deepened existing friendships. Medical crises have led me to slow and focus on the needs of those I most love. The inability to resolve the anxiety provided an invitation to greater embrace the concept of powerlessness. For someone who is accustomed to accomplishing what he sets his mind to, the latter has proven most helpful in calming my soul.

You may ask how reflection impacts my overwhelm and discouragement? Well, on one hand it certainly has not absolved me of those feelings. On the other hand, I notice the learning over this past year helps me engage life with more patience and understanding, greater self-compassion and compassion for others, and equally important a sense of hope in acknowledging even the most difficult circumstances offer profound opportunity for personal growth and connecting with those around us.

A new year is something that begins with creating resolutions, goals for the future, and brings a renewed sense of energy and motivation. One consistency through each new year that I have observed, is the idea on everyone’s mind: “What can change look like for me this year?”. Desired change is something that feels exciting and hopeful. These goals are often set with the best intentions and the aspirations to be even greater than you were last year. Unexpected change often creates a different outcome, mentally, behaviorally, and emotionally. When change is unexpected it tends to create stress, overwhelm, pressure, and hardship. The ways in which we handle that unexpected change is essential to developing a stronger sense of well-being.

At the start of 2024, I had expectations and a set plan for what my year would have looked like. As I moved through the year, there were many unexpected changes that brought adversity, grief, challenge, and created a different outcome than what I had expected. The more shifts that occurred throughout my year, the more I found myself judging where I was versus where I had wanted to be. I became caught up with how my reality was so different from my expectations. I found myself focusing on my “shortcomings”, instead of on all of the great things that I had learned about myself, and appreciating the resilience it took to get through the pain that this past year brought me.

When a person has focused so much on the expectations they’ve set for them self, there is unnecessary pressure put on the goal or outcome they had in mind. There is a tendency, as humans, to focus on what wasn’t achieved, instead of acknowledging the strength that it took to overcome the barriers that got in the way of achieving the set goal.

The biggest lesson I learned in 2024 is: what will be, will be. Change is not always expected or hoped for, but it is something that happens in life. The most important reminder that we can give ourselves is that change can bring incredible knowledge about how resilient we are, what our capabilities can be, and allows us to develop a deeper understanding of Self. I now know, I am able to embrace all of the unexpected change that the New Year may bring, and can understand the ways in which to acknowledge my strength, instead of focusing on what may not have been achieved.

If you are reading this, it’s highly likely that you have heard of the idea of “New Years Resolutions” and have also heard the highly optimistic phrase “New Year, New Me.” I have begun to ponder why there’s such a busyness and bustle about these ideas so much so that gym memberships flourish at the start of every year. I wonder what it would be like to face the New Year with the same you and no grand new resolutions and simply a resolve to be.

I’ve noticed that what we all need most is not usually another goal, self-help book, or dramatic new self-care routine plan. Maybe it would be to our benefit if we chose to simply be. That is not to say there are no redeeming qualities in these things or ideas but in a world so saturated with messaging about who, what, and how we should be in 5 easy steps right at our fingertips 24/7 we are so often driven to overwhelm, burnout, anxiety, and this nagging feeling that we are not enough. These things are largely unhelpful and rarely bring any meaningful change we actually want in our lives.

The real challenge and gift to ourselves lies in simply being who we are. This is hard because we’re used to being always occupied with something. Often with the unconscious plan to avoid seeing ourselves because busyness has taken up all the space. We must find a way to get comfortable with what is happening inside our heads, hearts, and bodies. If we are not taking the time to do these things and be with ourselves, how can we possibly know what we need? How can we set resolutions or declare a “new me” if we do not know what is happening within us? The truth is we cannot.

My proposal is to set these things aside and instead this next year commit to being. I have a hunch that what will emerge is the same you. My hope is that there will be a shift to more awareness, compassion, and grace for yourself. A comfort developed with what is happening inside your head, heart, and body. Maybe even a realization that you probably do not need a “new” you because perhaps in doing so you find you become more intentional about who you choose to be.

I have been thinking a lot lately about stress and pressure and how all encompassing it can be. I see it everyday as a student and as an intern at PCS. The external pressures that come from every angle externally. The societal, familial and peer pressures to live up to a certain standard, to be something that was modeled to you either implicitly or explicitly. All of these pressures can have a compounding effect, each one adding to the weight of the feeling of not being enough.

The result of these compounding pressures is a sort of Sisyphean masochism wherein we are perpetually striving to be THAT much better in the eyes of others. If we just change one more thing about ourselves in order to fit the mold we believe others want us to fit, only then we will be complete. Satisfied because we have reached this imaginary template of what we believe others think we ought to be. The result of this chase is a perpetual treadmill of futile self-actualization, with internal psychological conflict being the unfortunate by-product.

The issue here is not the motivation itself. Change is inevitable. Change is what drives us forward and what makes life worth experiencing. Change is something worth striving for in the name of growth in every sense of the word. The problem is with the underlying motivation to change. It takes careful self-inspection and reflection on the forces which have influenced you throughout your life to recognize where your motivation for change truly lies. Whether those be your parents, siblings, peers, teachers, bosses, etc. Pay attention to the messages you have received throughout your life and ask the question: “Is this my standard or someone else’s?”

I have come to the realization that for most of my life has been marred by the anxiety of reaching a certain standard to please others. As I attempt to shed that burden there is an undeniable component that must be fulfilled as a duty to yourself within this process. Grace. Grace and kindness toward yourself is paramount. Once you can begin to have empathy for yourself, the weight of external pressures can begin to lift. I have noticed once I presented this thought to myself, life has begun transitioning from an arduous journey, to just a journey. A journey you deserve to experience fully and completely. You owe it to yourself.